One Bell is Ringing
by Chernabog'sDaughter
Summary: A girl is fleeing from a mysterious sound of death, until she meets Lenore, who welcomes her to her home in exchange for ridding her home from unwanted, human vermin. But what makes Verne different from them?


One bell is ringing by Dead Mametchi von Chernabog One bell is ringing by Dead Mametchi von Chernabog

This is based on an old, Finnish/Norwegian bed time story. It freaked me out when I was six, and the title "En nifs historie" (lit. "A Scary Story") suited it well. Norway and Finland, the Black Metal capitals of the world, people! This story is rated for nasty gore scenes.

I think Lenore would fit in great as the little girl who opens the door in the sinister, old house where Granny of the Swamp lives with all her creepy friends, and Lenore's house being a great substitute for that.

_Stranger, don't come knocking on my door_

_I wanna be alone_

_For you and all who you are coming from_

_Are dreadfully unexpected_

_To free me from my sullen fear of life_

_As normal as can be_

_For driven out of wanted possibility_

_Are freaks like you and me?_

Verne ran. She ran as fast as she could over the swampy forest ground like she was gong to die.

She didn't know why she ran. She had done so for some days now.

One morning the sound of a bell, far out on the marshes, spoke to her of death, an untimely demise, her own demise, startled her and made her run. Every time she stopped running the ringing caught up with her, like a fly around one's face on a hot day.

The forest was dead still. Mist was hanging over the rotting trees and filling the air with a feeling of being smothered.

Verne was so cold, hungry and tired, but she knew that if she stopped, she would die. The bell started ringing again, and it was not a cheery sound like a normal bell, but a hollow sound like fingertips circling on the edge of a wine glass.

Suddenly, she tripped in her nightgown. The long pale peach satin that reached her to the toes was torn under her bare feet and she fell down and landed in a ditch.

There was a pond full of frogs down there, and she was on the bottom of it. She kicked to get loose from weeds and old branches, before she could finally breathe in the humid autumn air.

The bell had stopped ringing. She could now walk, and for each step she felt her heart calm down. As soon as she found a house, she would knock on the door to ask for something to eat, and perhaps even for somewhere to sleep. It was no use calling her parents tonight, as she was miles upon miles away from home, and nothing could be done at 1 am anyway.

After some time, she was standing bare feet on a gravel road. She could see a large house in the distance, where a lantern was shining on a porch.

She ventured closer. There was an old rocking chair with a cat sleeping in it standing on the entrance patio, as well as a coffee table.

Verne knocked on the door three times, and waited.

After exactly thirty seconds, someone opened the door. Someone short, and carrying a candlelight.

"Hello," a little girl's voice said. The voice was mild and gentle enough, but also raspy, like she didn't use it much.

The girl was just as tall as Verne, but the resemblance stopped there. Her skin had the colour of cold oatmeal. Verne instantly saw that this girl didn't spend much time in the sun. Her hair was long and blonde, and she wore a poofy, pink nightcap to avoid the cold, and her black nightgown was too long. Maybe she didn't have a mother who was good at altering.

She smiled, revealing fang-like teeth. But she looked friendly enough.

"What are you doing her? It's late. It has to be late, because it is seven hours since the sky became dark."

Verne hummed. "I know, but I really need help right now," she said with a hint of desperation to her voice.

"I see. You smell bad. Let me make you a nice bath. My name's Lenore."

Lenore's house was old and embossed Verne as a house where people rarely ever dusted. But it was nice, with thick, red carpeted floor, oil paintings, mostly depicting colors and strange creatures. There was lovely carved Baroque furniture in the hallway.

But the house was dark, so dark. It smelled like it was mouldering up, as if no one had lived there for years.

The living room was dark too, where there was a collection of the old, luxurious furniture, but now also with a tea tray.

"Please sit," said Lenore happily, as if this happened often. "I'll go find something to wash your dirty feet."

She returned minutes later with a little, steel tub filled with hot water.

"All better," she said, and Verne put her feet into the foot soak.

When not talking, Lenore looked like she was far away in some trip-out land, lost in her own thoughts. She gave Verne hot tea and cookies, and in rapt joy over seeing food, she ate them all in one bite without caring about whether it was polite or not.

"Where are your parents, Lenore?" she asked. Lenore looked thoughtful for two seconds, before she answered: "I don't know. We were going to move to this house, but when I got here, they were not here, and after a while I stopped waiting for them."

It didn't sound like she was lying, and it was a bit frightening. Verne was suspecting something, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

"Have you heard a bell ringing lately, Lenore?"

"Bell? That must have been Malakai."

Verne didn't want to ask who, or what Malakai was, so she continued on from the previous subject. "You live here all alone?"

Lenore smiled and finished her tea. "No. My friend Ragamuffin lives here too, but he's gone fishing with Taxidermy for the weekend."

She put away her cup. "You see, there are people who want to take over this house, and it scares him. I try to keep them out of here, I have paid every bill."

"You pay bills?" Verne asked.

"Yes, I pay my bills with quarters and cute little cockroaches."

"Who are these people?"

Lenore hummed to clear her lean throat. "They are people with noisy voices and modern clothes."

She rose and walked over to the window. "You can sleep in the guestroom," she said, and helped her up the spiral stairs in the entrance. The story above was as large as the first floor, and the guest bedroom was a lovely, yet dusty room. Verne lay her head down on the pillow of the four-poster bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


End file.
